


Changes

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-21
Updated: 2009-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode tag for <em>Hathor</em>: Jack suffers from nightmares in the aftermath of Hathor's takeover of the base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changes

_Talk about having your back against the wall! _

_He felt the cold, damp stone against his bare flesh almost as a comforting touch. In this utter darkness, it was the only thing that was real. The cold  the deep, numbing cold of the grave  seeped into his body from the rock. He reached for his weapon and when his fingers encountered only his leather belt he remembered he had lost it. The sound of his rapid breathing was too loud. He could hear his own heartbeat as well, and feel it  his heart beating against his ribs like a caged bird trying to escape. _

_He took a deep breath and tried to hold it. Tried desperately to control his fear and growing panic. To slow his breathing so he could listen._

_The effort turned out to be unnecessary. He heard the echo of a shout, reverberating through the place where he hid, amplified by the vast cavern. They were getting closer. Running as he had been he must have left a trail. He had no choice but to keep moving. With one hand on the stone wall, he headed further into the tunnel. He kept stumbling over rocks he couldn't see in the dark, swallowing the cries that wanted to force their way out of his throat. The wall was his only guide._

_He didn't want to die like this _

No!!

The word was a scream in Jack's mind as the sudden surge of adrenaline pulled him out of the nightmare. He sat up in bed, the sweat-drenched sheets falling away from his naked body. The harsh, orange streetlights shone through the open curtains, spilling across the bed and his face.

Just a dream.

Just a dream.

He reached out blindly across the empty space beside him, his questing hand found only rumpled sheets. Well, who had he expected to find there? Sara? Their marriage had been over for a long time. It was Daniel, he remembered, who had, all unaware of the devastating impact of his words, forced Jack to face the fact that he didn't have a marriage left to save. Daniel, who scorned Jack's willingness to die during that first mission to Abydos  a mission that led, in one indirect but unbroken line, to this night.

_"We must praise you and honour you with a great gift" _

His hands clenched into fists, Jack rubbed at his temples, trying to shake off the last remnants of the nightmare. The second tonight. In the first, he had been running through the corridors of the base, pursued by an enemy who  somehow  wore his dead son's face. He had woken from that one retching, desperate for a strong drink and a cigarette.

He quit smoking over a year ago.

Shuddering, Jack swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Not bothering with a robe  he lived alone, for crying out loud  he staggered his way to the bathroom. The night air was slightly chilly on his nakedness. Welcome. It kept him in reality.

Jack snapped the bathroom light on and white light flooded the room. Standing over the sink, Jack leaned heavily on the porcelain edge and squinted at his reflection in the mirror. He would swear there was more grey at his temples than there had been a week earlier. His half-closed eyes were bloodshot and shadowed from lack of sleep. He looked like he hadn't shaved for a week  though he was fairly sure it was only two days.

Basically he looked badly hung over. But that wasn't it. As much as he wanted to, Jack hadn't touched alcohol since _it_ happened. He knew that if he started to drink, he wouldn't stop until he passed out. And that way lay  consequences.

He started the tap running, watching the water swirl around the plug for a few minutes. Then he gathered some of the icy water into his hands and splashed it over his face and hair. It brought him, shockingly fast, back to full consciousness. He straightened, eyes wide open now, looking into the mirror again. Definitely more grey. He didn't look too bad for a man of his age, though. The muscles of his arms and chest were hard and well-defined: the result of constant exercise. Jack fingered the pale scar on his left shoulder: a nasty bullet-wound several years old. His hand moving lower, he found the almost invisible trace of a knife wound across his ribs: he'd earned that one in a prison camp  not a pleasant memory. Jack remembered every moment of those months, living in filth and constant fear of death. Jack, despite a colourful array of medals on his dress uniform, had never considered himself a brave man. He wanted to _live_.

Of the most recent wound, however, there was no trace. Jack rested his hand on his abdomen, where that tearing of his flesh had been.

The sarcophagus had healed the wound, leaving him with nothing but the memory.

_"May I see?" Carter had asked him, gently insistent as she drew his clothing aside._

_Jack, disoriented, but sober enough to be embarrassed by her scrutiny and his own dishabille, had tired to stop her._

_"You were  well, let's just say you were wounded," Carter told him, and Jack remembered, vaguely, that he had been in the sarcophagus. He must have been badly wounded, then. Squirming a little, he had allowed Carter to examine him, finding reassurance in her relief._

He hadn't remembered. Not then, in the moment. Even now, the memory was fuzzy. At least, during the day. That was as it should be: he had, after all, been drugged.  Not in control of his actions.

He remembered this stunningly beautiful woman, whose eyes seemed to glow like diamonds within a face of porcelain, above red, sensual lips that spoke in a voice of milk and honey  he _knew_ She was a Goa'uld, but somehow that had seemed unimportant. She was different. She was  a goddess. Just a single look from Her, a touch 

He had been able, from time to time, to pull his mind out of the sensual fog She had woven around his mind. He had tried to ask the questions, thinking, in his muddled way, that if She would just _admit_ She was evil it would break the spell. He had even gone to Her (Fool!), but She had been ready for him, making plans for him. Her eyes were pools in which he drowned, Her kiss wove the spell even stronger. (Fool! _Fool!_).

Even when he saw the _thing_ She wore beneath her robe, he had simply longed for Her touch, yearned even for the pain if such was Her desire.

When it came down to it, even knowing what She was, he had trusted Her.

And she had 

Jack turned away from the mirror abruptly. He didn't want to think about that.

Instead, the nightmare returned. _Running, trapped in a maze of damp tunnels, loose rocks beneath his feet tripping him almost every step. The certainty that he was about to die in some horrible way _

Jack would have preferred death to what Hathor had almost done to him.

He wasn't going to sleep tonight. Wide awake, now, Jack walked back into the bedroom to dress, then headed into his kitchen. He filled the kettle and opened a new jar of coffee. Waiting for the water to boil, he wondered why this bothered him so much. Every man on the base had been taken in by Hathor. Well, every man except Teal'c. Why was he the one who couldn't sleep since?

Colonel Jack O'Neill. His military identity was an anchor, sometimes. At times like this, it was more like a ball and chain. A weight on his mind, reminding him of his failure.

_Tired and hurting, running through the maze of tunnels. Under fire, weaponless  _in reality, these were all things Jack could deal with. But at night, alone, it was more than he could bear.

No, he would never call himself a brave man.

_"  a great gift  you will treasure the good health and long life  "_

The mug fell from Jack's hand, smashing on the floor. Hot coffee flew everywhere.

No. He _did_ fear death  what normal man doesn't?  but that Goa'uld _bitch_ had touched a deeper fear. If she had killed him, he would at least have died as himself.

If he could only have shared his feelings  But that was the one thing he had never been able to do. His insular nature set him apart, drove his friends from him. Even Sara, in the end, had found his barriers impenetrable. And how could he talk about _this_? Who would understand? Was there no one to whom he could say, "I'm afraid"?

Who  ?

Jack stared at the telephone for a long time. Then he picked it up and dialled a number.

He heard it ringing, over and over again. Glancing out of the window, he saw that it was still night. For crying out loud, what was he _thinking_? It was the middle of the night!

Jack was about to hang up when he heard a sleepy "Hello?" from the other end.

He hesitated.

"Hello?"  slightly more awake this time.

Jack sighed. "I  I didn't mean to wake you  " he began, feeling an idiot.

"Jack? What's wrong?" Daniel, his voice alert now. Before Jack could mumble an excuse, Daniel said, "No, don't tell me over the phone. I can be there in twenty minutes. Is that okay?"

"Uh  yeah," Jack agreed.

"On my way." There was a distinct _click_ as Daniel hung up the phone.

Jack picked up a towel and started to mop up the spilled coffee. He felt better already


End file.
